THURSDAY, JANUARY 14, 2010
31 Miles: My Paddle Around Manhattan By Kayak
Thirty-one miles is not that far. We are living in a time where keeping up with the Daredevil Jones means motorbiking across Mongolia or swimming The English Channel. When I decided to kayak around Manhattan this fall it wasn't about proving superwoman endurance or getting into a record book. It was about changing my perspective on things. I paddled around a collective mass of over 8 million people and randomly, probably only 50 or so were aware of my water presence. If you think of New York City and the energy potential of all those people, lights, and dollars, nuclear proportions come to mind. All those footsteps, heartbeats, text messages, and dreams are massed in such a relatively small space. I used to be one of those heartbeats, racing up and down subway steps, consuming Americano's as if they were the sixth food group in the food pyramid. I worked as a fine arts restorer in a basement space in ultra-chic Tribeca and felt so insulated and frenetic that I almost never thought about the water that surrounded the city and even less about where it came from and where it fights to return to.
Our party of six left our upstate NY town around 5am to make a 7am departure from the Dyckman St. (200th st.)boat put-in on the upper west side. I had grown up as a competitive flatwater kayaker plus I'd done some distance paddling on the Hudson up north near my house, so I wasn't nervous about the mileage. I did have some concern about the frequent passing barge not seeing me, but was more excited about the paddle itself, and the vantage point that it would give me, both on the city and maybe even on myself. It is a powerful thing to experience the quiet intimacy of the Hudson, so ironically close to the mega Gotham with all its sounds, confusion, and aggression. We departed from our chosen spot at a specific time in order to be paddling with the current, which was carefully plotted. There was quite a bit of chop on the water that morning, but I still felt that I had to be less "heads up" out on the Hudson than I would need to be on the city streets. I couldn't help thinking about the history of the city, but even more about the history that the water had seen. My Italian ancestors had done some time on these waters, but they had travelled them with the much bigger goal of immigration in the late 1890's. I thought about so many things that day during the nine-hour paddle. I looked up in admiration and amazement at the underside of the antiquated bridge structures as I paddled under them. We don't build bridges with that kind of architectural beauty and decorative iron -work anymore. Why not? I realized as a metaphor for life at Hell's Gate channel crossing on The East River, that sometimes you can give it all you've got and still you seem to go nowhere, but keep paddling because eventually you'll get to where you want to be (plus if you stop, you'll get sucked out into The Long Island Sound: not good). I was happy to discover that you can still pee in public on the not-so deserted island of Manhattan without getting seen, or at least not arrested (small beach just north of The South Street Seaport behind bridge buttress). As we paddled up the Harlem River, I could see the now "old" Yankee Stadium. I thought about what New York must have been like when my Dad grew up in The Bronx in the fifties. I thought of all the Yankee Games he'd taken us to as kids to give us a taste of that history. Mickey Mantle, Thurman Munson, Don Mattingly. I said goodbye to the stadium and was thankful for our last game day there last summer. Dad finally caught a ball after sixty years of attendance. Good things do come to those who wait.
Somewhere around hour eight, my arms and shoulders started to get tired, so I concentrated on my stroke, and could easily meditate on the rhythmic swoosh of my paddle entering the water. I was glad that we'd had a fairly warm day for october, and that the sun was still shining. As we paddled closer to the historic Spuyten Duyvil ( the devil's whirlpool) where the Harlem River meets up with The Hudson, I knew we had come almost full circle. Re-entering The Hudson felt so victorious, and we had scenery to match. The water was real choppy, but the days-end sunlight was exquisite on the water, and the view of The Palisades Cliffs was straight out of a Hudson River School painting. I thought many times that day about how little or how much a person can accomplish in nine hours time. Believe it or not, when we got back to our starting point landing, I felt kind of sad to get out of my boat, but made a pact with myself that I would be back to explore the Hudson again, and other waters too. Since the big paddle I've been increasing my awareness of the state of our waters and have come to find out that we are responsible for some seriously devastating changes both to the ocean systems and its species population. Check out the work of Dr. Sylvia Earle and the Deep Search foundation for some eye-opening information.
Despite having done lots of paddling on The Hudson while growing up, my october paddle around Manhattan was still a poetic wake-up call and reminder of the intimate and therapeutic personal experience that only the water can provide. Being out on the water is the best place to think about where you came from and discover where you want to go. See you on The Hudson in 2010.
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